


S’mores and Forever Yours

by EtherealEnigma



Category: Captain Marvel (2019), Captain Marvel (Marvel Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Blood Bond, Blood Drinking, Blood Sharing, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Mild Blood, Post-Captain Marvel (2019), Sleepovers, Smut, Something Blue, Something Borrowed, Something New, Wedding Fluff, Wedding Night, impromptu wedding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-12
Updated: 2020-03-12
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:08:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23113714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EtherealEnigma/pseuds/EtherealEnigma
Summary: Something old,something new,something borrowed,something blue,And a blood oath to make it true.Monica questions why Carol and Yon-Rogg aren’t married during a visit to Louisanna with Talos and his family. Cue an impromptu wedding.
Relationships: Carol Danvers & Maria Rambeau, Carol Danvers & Maria Rambeau & Monica Rambeau, Carol Danvers & Monica Rambeau, Carol Danvers/Yon-Rogg, Soren & Talos & Talos's Daughter (Marvel), Soren/Talos (Marvel), Talos & Talos's Daughter (Marvel)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 43





	1. Pure White Cane Sugar

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This first chapter is solely fluff, NO SMUT! 
> 
> I also named Talos’s daughter Verena :)

“So it’s cracker, chocolate, marshmallow, cracker?” 

“No Verena! It’s cracker, marshmallow, _then_ chocolate, cracker,” giggles Monica as she pops the last squares of a Hershey’s bar into her mouth while opening a new pack of graham crackers.

Carol laughs while toasting a new marshmallow, “Lieutenant, let up, the order isn’t gonna affect anything as long as all the pieces are there.”

“It makes all the difference Auntie Carol! It’s like milk before cereal or cereal before milk, one is _obviously_ better than the other!”

“If you say so,” Carol says before her stick is abruptly pulled out of the flame by Yon-Rogg. Looking at him from her place nestled under his arm, she playfully fumes, “hey, what the hell?”

“You’re burning your marshmallow, look it’s practically scorched.”

“I know that’s how I like it,” peeling off the burnt, bubbly outside and dropping it into her mouth with a grin. 

“Of course it is,” he mumbles before observing his own marshmallow toasting. 

“That has to be the most perfectly toasted marshmallow I’ve ever seen” Maria staggers, “isn’t that like the first s’mores he’s ever made? How is he doing that?”

“Well, he has a reference,” Carols holds up the graham cracker box, “and also an ungodly amount of patience.”

“Something you are sorely lacking in,” Yon jests cheekily before Carol snatches the oh so perfect marshmallow from its place on top of a graham cracker and eats it.

She manages to get out between munches “good but definitely doesn’t hold a candle to my burnt ones!”

“Vixen,” he mutters dragging her deeper under his arm and subtlety nuzzling her hair, sending Carol into another bout of giggles.

“Such a paradox to watch,” Talos mumbles slightly bewildered.

“Oh stop it,” Soren chuckles with a gentle, unexpected toss of a bag of marshmallows right to his face.

Maria settles in a chair closer to the couples, allowing the two girls to eat their s’mores and talk about whatever two little girls from two different planets talk about.“So, when are y’all heading back out there?”

“Probably the day after tomorrow? I haven’t been looking at the comms much, but from what I did catch, it looks like there’s another squabble on Z-91. We’ll probably bop up there just to make sure nothing gets too crazy,” Carol states as she snuggles deeper into Yon’s embrace, adjusting the blankets to cover her bare toes and legs against the nipping mosquitoes and chilly spring-night air.

“Same goes for us. We have to get back to New Skrullos with enough time to prepare for the Mid-Spring Solstice,” Soren adds placing her head on her husband’s shoulder.

“Duty calls,” Maria smirks, raising her glass.

“You know it,” Carol responds as the group completes an impromptu cheers. 

“Auntie Carol, are you and Yon-Rogg married?”

Nearly simultaneously, all five of their heads jerk to look at Monica, hands on her hips with a sassy challenging demeanor.

“And what has you asking that?” Maria asks, handing it right back to her like only a mother can.

“Well, Verena and I were talking about the Spring Festival back on New Skrullos-“

“It marks the common period of initiating courtships, betrothals, and marriages,” Soren interjects quickly, trying to add context for the odd outburst.

“And she was telling me all about the ceremonies and the dresses and the flowers and the food and stuff,” Monica rambles on, “and that got me thinking if you guys are married?”

“Well - it’s- it’s uh, complicated,” Carol begins disjointedly, her eyes darting between Yon and Monica, an uncharacteristic violet hue gracing her cheeks and progressively deepening.

“You mean the Kree blood bond thing? I get that but-“

“Excuse me, you ’get that?’ How do you even know about that?!” Carol asks back frantically and perplexed, immediately looking to Maria.

“Don’t look at me, I don’t have any alien heritage books lying around except maybe a paperback version of ET,” her hands up in self defense.

“I read it on Verena’s Holopad,” Monica responds innocently while pointing to the young Skrull, a meek sound leaving the girl’s mouth at being sold out.

“And you did that right? With the whole….” Monica gestures to her arms, obviously referencing the transfusion. The procedure had never been a secret to her, it explained the whole transformation with the most ease, but Carol had certainly never thought it would come back to bite her in the ass like this. 

“Yes, informally,” Yon finally pipes in, taking the pressure off Carol who was utterly gobsmacked with the whole situation. She really was Lieutenant Trouble wasn’t she?

“Okay, so under ‘Kree law’” Monica air-quotes , “you’re married.”

“Yes,” Yon carefully concedes.

“But you haven’t had a ‘ceremony,’ right?”

“No, we haven’t.”

“So to society, you wouldn’t be married?”

“I guess not?” 

“I’m sorry - how far into this book did you get exactly?” Carol interrupts.

“Not important,” Monica curtly responds, “and you guys love each other and wanna be with each other and all that stuff right?”

“Monica!” Maria calls with horror while Talos laughs at the utter embarrassment of the two Kree (or Kree and Kree-Human-Photon being? Placing Carol into a box was always difficult in every regard) as Soren tries to desperately smoother his echoing, belly laughs with a humorous grin of her own.

Monica was not (nor was she ever) dazed, “what? You guys do, right?”

Carol and Yon-Rogg glance at each other, trying to read each other’s thoughts only with their eyes, deep brown irises clashing with honey gold. To most, Yon-Rogg probably looked cool, calm, absolutely collected sitting in front of the dying embers in the makeshift fire pit, but Carol knew better. His intake of breath was slightly sharper, the fingers of his right hand twitched against his thigh, pupils dilated by a fraction of a centimeter: he was nervous or, at the very least, uncomfortable. It was understandable of course. The Kree were many (in Carol’s humble opinion, mostly negative) things: fierce warriors, zealots, domineering imperialists. It was a miracle that the words sensitive or empathetic even existed in the Kree language. Yon-Rogg, although being the poster boy for the empire, had always been somewhat different. Yes, for the cause, he could be calculated and cold. Nonetheless, he had a heart. It was what made him teach the young cadets with a gentle hand rather than scarring intimidation, what made him run with Carol and train at his childhood gym at the wee hours of the mornings, what brought him back to her and away from the Supreme Intelligence. After becoming a traitor to the Kree, Yon had to relearn some of the social norms that creatures of the rest galaxy universally practiced and understood: conversations about your feelings, nonverbal means of communication like a high-five or a handshake, even unconfined laughing during casual conversation. Public displays of affection were particularly difficult to normalize. Overall, in private it wasn’t really a problem between them; perhaps surprising to most, Yon was attentive, thoughtful, and though Carol would never mutter the words into the open air, _sweet_. The physical hurdles had actually been easy to overcome, he was a man of action after all. Expressing feelings not so much. From its very inception, the idea of separating the person, the warrior, from emotion was ingrained into the fiber of Kree culture. To throw away what is practically the fundamental philosophy of his people was no easy feat, but he was making strides everyday to separate himself from the abuses he suffered at the hands of that damn AI. And Carol never wavered in her support of him, always patient (even if it was very uncharacteristic of her) and unjudging. She certainly wouldn’t waver now, leaving Yon to what she was certain were the wolves to him. 

“Yes,” Carol responds briskly, tenderly taking his hand in hers, the action hidden due to the night sky wrapping around it like a cloak of invisibility. “I think we do,” Carol’s meeting Yon’s gaze meekly, her cheeks dusting a delicate lavender shade. He gives her the smallest smile and nod of his head in agreement. 

“So let’s have a wedding!” Monica squeals ecstatically, jumping from her seat and clapping her hands together.

Carol snorts, “okay, Lieutenant, where were you thinking? The rec center? The Catholic Church where you go for Easter mass?”

“Don’t be silly, Auntie Carol! We’d have it here,” gesturing widely with her short arms to the space around her.

“What in the backyard? Were you thinking about asking your mother ‘bout doing that, Miss Wedding Planner Extraordinaire?” Maria pokes with her hands on her hips.

“Eventually,” the girl responds sheepishly, “I was thinkin’ in the garden cause you know, all the flowers bloomed and stuff. Besides, this is my last chance to be a flower girl. Aunt Lauren and Jackie both picked Liz for their weddings because they thought I was too big.”

“Ooo, I want to be a flower girl too!” Verena adds on in support.

“Do you even know what that is?” Soren deadpans back. 

“Not exactly, but it sounds fun. Being the girl of flowers,” Verena gush’s, eyes glimmering. 

“Flower power,” Maria mumbles taking a sip of her beer.

“Why not?” Yon-Rogg states suddenly.

“Wait, are you serious?” Carols asks while eyeing him suspiciously.

“We can’t really deny two young girls their last opportunity at being these famous ‘flower girls’ can we now?” He smirks. 

“I guess not,” Carol smiles, “but before we make any plans, I’m asking the boss over there. I know better than to make plans over Ma’s head.”

“Oh what the hell, sure. Wouldn’t be the craziest thing to happen out here, ‘specially considering the shed,” Maria muttering the last part under her breath. “Plus, maybe I wanna be a maid of honor,” she adds on, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively.

“Yes!” Monica cries out happily, pumping her fist in the air. She runs over to Carol swiftly, grabbing her hands and pulling her away from Yon. 

“And where do you think you're dragging me off to? The gallows?”

“No, it’s the night before the wedding and you guys can’t see each other! It’s bad luck and we’re already off to a bad start. We can only hope that because you’re aliens the rules can be bent a little!”

* * *

To appease Monica, Carol agreed to spend the night way from Yon and their guest room. Instead, they had a sleepover in Maria’s bedroom. They had eaten junk food, watched movies all night (admittingly, they had rewatched _Clueless_ several times), and done manicures and pedicures on each other for the “big day.” Monica had insisted on doing her nails red, Maria’s blue, and Carol’s gold in tribute to the famous Captain Marvel suit. Carol wasn’t exactly sure when she passed out on the quilts and pillows tossed on the floor, somewhere between her third pack of Dunk-a-Roos and when Ellie gets cornered by a dinosaur in _Jurassic Park,_ but she knew it had been late. 

“Wake up!” Monica yells, hopping onto Carol and providing her a startling wake up call.

“I’m up, I’m up,” she yawns as she stretches out the kinks in her neck from her snooze on the hard floor. “What time is it?”

“11:30, Ma figured that since it’s your special day, we should let you sleep and not bother you with our preppin’.”

“Your bridal party has arrived,” Maria hums as she carries a loaded tray, “I brought the goods.”

“You’re the best,” Carol praises as she plucks a mug of coffee and a buttered biscuit from Maria’s bounty.

“Come on Lucky Lady, we gotta doll you up,” Maria guiding her to the wood vanity at the front of her room. 

“I am in your hands, ladies,” dropping herself onto the padded bench.

Monica takes a brush from the surface, holding it to her chin in contemplation. She circles Carol in deep concentration, “I’m think a half braided crown with some curls annnnnnddddddddd a touch of mascara, a dash of blush, a hint of lipstick, and the smallllllesssssttttt dab of brown shadow.” 

“Are you a Lieutenant or a Hollywood Stylist?” Carol chuckles.

“One’s my day job, one’s my side hustle,” Monica corrects as begins brushing her golden tresses.

“You’re too young to have a side hustle child,’ Maria sighs blending a soft brown shade onto Carol lids.

Monica begins to plait the upper half of Carol’s hair, “No one is too young to have a side hustle mom.”

“Mhmm,” Maria draws, giving the dark blonde lashes a layer of jet black mascara. 

A swipe of blush and lipstick later, plus some soft curls which Maria had done (“Ma, I’m on hair!” “If you think I trust you with 400 degree hot piece of metal, you got another thing coming!”), they turned to raiding Maria’s closet for something that could be considered remotely bridal. Eventually, the trio had settled on a silvery baby blue , floor-length slip dress. If you squinted, you might think it’s white and it was the longest, most formal option. 

“But it has to be white,” Monica whines as they wait for Carol to change outside the bathroom.

“Oh hush, we’ll call it her something blue and borrowed .”

“That reminds me! Soren and Verena made her something new and I have her something old, I’ll be right back,” Monica sprints out of the room and clunks down the steps.

“Don’t you be skipping steps there missy! You don’t need to be taking a tumble today,” Maria calls after her daredevil daughter. 

Only moments later, Carol hesitantly steps out of the bathroom. “So, whatcha’ think?”

Sure it may not be the normal white princess gown, beaded with crystals and pearls, detailed in delicate, fine lace and maybe there was no phantomly veil, but something about the way her best friend, her _sister_ , choked Maria’s throat up. The dress looked like it was tailor made for her, the silk dripping down every curve of her body before just barely grazing the floor. The spaghetti-strap and drooping cowl neckline accentuated her strong shoulders. Her face held an out of character softness: her doe brown eyes caressed by the brown shadow, her soft waved wispies that had escaped the braid framed her face like a portrait. No, Carol did not look like the average bride. But Carol had never really been average to begin with. 

“It’s not fair, I bought that for myself and somehow it looks like it was made for you,” Maria weakly jokes with a gentle smile, her eyes slightly glassy.

“Take it as pay back for when you stole my signature LBD during the academy.”

Maria hums in agreement, coming face-to-face with Carol. Taking her by her shoulders, she gets one more good look at Carol whose breath hitches before taking her into her arms. 

“You look good Car,” Maria whispers, “he’s perfect for you. Weirdly, foreignly, bizarrely perfect for you.” Carol can only tearfully chuckle in response as she languidly pulls away.

“You know, I don’t have anyone to walk me down the aisle. What do you say, Photon? Can you guide the Avenger through battle one more time?”

“‘Course, I’d never leave my ace with a blind spot.”

Carol reaches between them and takes Maria’s hand into her own, a few stray tears escaping her eyes. “I love you, Mar.”

“I love you too,” giving her hand a warm squeeze while using her other to brush away the wet spots on the slopes of her cheeks. 

“We’re backkkkkkkkk,” Monica lyrically calls as she storms into the room, hand-in-hand it’s Verena, Soren tailing closely behind. The girls stop once they finally get a glimpse of Carol, eyes trained on her in awe.

Once the spell is broken, Monica runs up to the blushing bride, grabbing onto her middle. “Oh Auntie Carol, you look amazing! Like you came right off the red carpet!”

“Thanks Lieutenant,” she coos back while giving her a gentle squeeze. 

“You look beautiful, Carol,” Verena admires timidly, lingering behind with her mother. 

Carol lifts her other arm, “come her, kid.” Verena breaks out into a megawatt grin, running to her without needing any further persuasion. 

“You truly look lovely,” Soren soothed, placing a compassionate hand to the side of her face. 

Carol places her palm over the Skrull’s, “thank you, Soren.”

“We have some things for you!” Monica cheers as she pulls away, Verena nodding along.

Monica digs into the pocket of her jeans, fishing round for something. When her fingertips graze the cool metal she’s searching for, she breaks out into a brilliant smile. She takes it into her closed hand, holding her arm out to Carol. “Your something old,” she proudly announces. 

As Monica retracts her fingers from the object, it catches the light and reflects a blinding gold shimmer. When Carol inches closer to her palm, she feels her breath catch in her throat, perhaps stopped by her heart jumping into it. It was a tiny, golden oak leaf resting in her soft hand.

“Your major insignia!” Monica exclaimed, “It was in your box, I’ve been takin’ care of it really well for you like I said.”

The pin was so small, it’s presence must have slipped through the cracks when she had looked through the bin so long ago.

“It looks as good as the day I got it, better even,” Carol whispers wistfully, caressing the cool metal, feeling the ridges of the leaf’s veins.

“I’ve been polishing it two times a week ever since you first went missing. Since you came back, I’ve upped it to three!” Monica beams. 

Carol can feel her lungs constrict, her heart heavy with emotion. She grazes the girl’s cheeks with fluid fingertips before placing loving hands on the surfaces. “You’re so sweet, kiddo,” Carol tightly rasps. She brings the girls face to her own, delicately kissing her forehead. “I love you so much,” she mutters into the girls skin.

Monica closes her eyes under the affection, “I love you so much too, Auntie Carol.”

After a minute, Monica pins it right below one of her thin dress straps before thrusting Verena forward. 

“Verena and Soren handled your something new.”

The young girl turns to her mother who hands her a flower crown. She takes it into her own hands, careful to not squish or crush any of the delicate petals.

“It’s a traditional Skrull Spring Crown, or at least as traditional as we could get with Terran flowers,” Verena blushes bashfully.

Soren steps forward, “each flower color represents a different value one hopes to bring into their marriage: red for passion and strength, yellow for loyalty and happiness. pink for harmony and affection.”

“Mama immortalized it in her travel lab on the ship, so it’s a sort of momento!” Verena cheerifully elaborates. 

“It’s wonderful, thank you,” Carol says sincerely placing a hand on the girl’s shoulder while giving her mother a smile and nod. “Would you put it on for me?”

Verena demurely grins with a slight nod of her head. Carol bends down to her level as Verena goes onto her tippy-toes, she adroitly slides the arrangement onto her head.

“Perfect!” 

“Now that I’m all done, I think my flower girls need to get to primping don’t ‘cha think?” Carol smirks.

* * *

“Okay, I did what you said and left Yon-Rogg and Talos under the flower arbor,” Soren states dutifully to Maria. 

“I’m curious,” Carol cuts in while in the mist of fluffing the bow on Monica’s yellow sundress and smoothing the wrinkles on Verena’s traditional Skrull wrap-tunic dress, “what’d you end up wrangling him into?”

“What are you, the Fashion Police now?” Maria chuckles.

“Just a Terran blouse and slacks,” Soren happily supplies as she straightens Monica’s headband.

“As long as it’s not armor or his PJs,” Carol murmurs to herself. 

“Alright, let’s get this show on the road folks!” Maria claps.

Soren went out first, but not before handing Monica and Verena their own individual basket of either red rose or lilac petals and Carol a corresponding bouquet.

After a few beats, Carol and Maria touched the girls on their shoulders. They smiled at each other before stepping out the door, a spring and a hop in their step. 

“You ready?” Maria asks when they’re alone standing in front of the patio door. 

“Higher, further, faster baby.”

* * *

Yon-Rogg can’t really say he had ever envisioned himself getting married. His family had tried to arrange a political engagement with the House of Njoh, a family of rare ore miners. He had vehemently denied the betrothal, refusing to be a pawn in his family’s war for influence. Then he joined Starforce and rose through the ranks faster than any other Kree, not to mention he did so even with the deep-rooted prejudice against pink-skins, and the thought just faded from his mind. His blind devotion to his people and the Supreme Intelligence gave him all the fulfillment and contempt he thought he could ever need. He never thought one person could give him so much purpose and happiness that it could outweigh the back-handed praise of the SI.

Then Carol came crashing into his life, literally. 

From day one, she was defiant, eccentric, and everything he had been taught was what made races other than the Kree inferior. Yet something about her made his heart race, his breath quicken, made him do things he would never do otherwise: run aimlessly in the early hours of the morning, bring her to his childhood gym, break his own rules. Her laugh and smile was infectious, just a hint of her grin and he’d break out into one of his own, completely uncharacteristic of himself. He couldn’t help it, she just made him a different man. It took him time to realize that she actually made him a _better_ man. The Supreme Intelligence was wrong; his feelings for her did not blind him, they made him _see_ . The preaching of the SI was not for the greater good, _the good of all Kree._ It was for the good of _some_ Kree, a very select, elite few of zealots and destructive radicals.The Supremor had given him the affection and praise he had never had yet always craved and used it to bend him to its will. Carol had given it to him with the expectation of nothing in return, except maybe his company. She made him feel like _he_ mattered, like his value laid in who he was rather than what he could be.

With all that in mind, he knew when he saw Carol step out onto the patio, her arm interlocked around Maria’s, he had been utterly wrong all those years ago, _before her._

The sun’s rays caught her hair giving her a sort of halo and her skin a porcelain-like sheen. Though her body is strong and poised, probably even intimidating to some, her face was delicate and loving, a slight glimmer to her gaze and a hint of a smile on her rosy lips.You would have thought she was floating if her bare feet and toes didn’t occasionally peak out from the hem of her dress. She looked ethereal, other worldly, like a goddess.

“You’re lucky, Kree,” Talos leans over and whispers to him.

Yon’s throat is constricted and he can only rasp “I know.”

It feels like eons, but somehow a fraction of a second, for her to reach him, her arm leaving Maria’s, passing her the bouquet before taking his hands in her own. Talos clears his throat before starting.

“We are gathered here today to stand witness to the tethering of two warriors, the intertwining of two souls, the declaration of devotion between Carol Danvers and Yon-Rogg.”

Yon-Rogg instantly recognizes the words from the several Skrull weddings Carol and he had attended on New Skrullos. He can hear the familiar beats of progression in the speech, the importance of love in the universe and the strength of the vows being taken, but it all just sounds like noise to him. All his brain can register is her, her eyes, her smile, her smaller, softer hand squeezing his larger, rougher one. He can almost hear the words the Supreme Intelligence had taunted him with.

_‘She’s made you weak.’_

She made him strong.

_‘She corrupted you, destroyed the perfect commander.’_

She set him free.

_‘You are nothing! Who could ever love a failure like you?’_

She could. She did. _She does._

His ears perk when he hears his cue for the vows.

“Do you, Yon-Rogg of Hala, take Carol Susan Jane Danvers to be your lawfully wedded wife? Do you promise to love and cherish her? To follow her into the unknown of the great expanse that is our universe? To stand by her no matter what enemies and adversities you both may face? Do you vow to stay by her side until you are both scattered amongst the stars?”

“I do,” his eyes never leaving hers.

“And do you, Carol Susan Jane Danvers of Terra-“

“Earth!” Monica corrects.

“Of course, my mistake,” Talos replies honestly, “do you, Carol Susan Jane Danvers of _Earth_ , take Yon-Rogg to be your lawfully wedded husband? Do you promise to love and cherish him? To follow him into the unknown of the great expanse that is our universe? To stand by him no matter what enemies and adversities you both may face? Do you vow to stay by his side until you are both scattered amongst the stars?”

“I do,” she beams.

“Then with the authority granted to me by the Skrull Republic and….” quickly glancing down to his holopad, “the Universal Marriage Officiant Ordination of the Holoweb-“

“I’m sorry, did you just say you got ordained on the _Holoweb_?” Carol interrupts, baffled. 

“Well, you two aren’t exactly Skrull citizens so unless you’d like your marriage to be a sham-“

“No, no. I just wanted to clarify, please carry on,” Carol permits smugly. 

“As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted,” Carol tossing Talos an eye roll at his hyperbolized offense,” with the authority granted to me by the Skrull Republic and the Universal Marriage Officiant Ordination of the Holoweb, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may now present yourselves as a united pair.” 

Carol had expected a chaste peck, something exaggerated to appease the greedy crowd in front of them. She certainly hadn’t expected him to _really_ kiss her. Her lips are tender and soft on hers, his gentle hands coming to hold her waist, pulling her closer to him. Her hands creep up to his face to deepen the kiss just slightly. They break away when their lungs demand oxygen, blinking hazily and grinning dumbly at each other. Their bubble is popped however when they feel small, hard pelts hitting their torsos and shoulders. 

“You’re married!” Monica shrieks ecstatically, her hands still in the air from her unceremonious toss.

“Is this,” Carol asks while grabbing one of the pieces in her hair, looking at it curiously, “rice?”

Monica nods vehemently at the question, Carol laughing at her response while brushing some of the grains off Yon’s shoulder. 

  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys enjoyed! I’ve had a really hard week emotionally and physically, plus the Coronavirus just slammed my state just to top it off, so it kinda threw a wrench into my writing. 
> 
> Alsooooooo, you guys should follow me on Tumblr @ etherealenigma . I post all my story links and updates there. You guys can send me some prompts too because I am looking for some inspiration!


	2. Burnt Sugar

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is ALL SMUT, so you have been warned!

It’s just after dusk when they clunk back into their guest room. After the ceremony, there had been a low-key sort of “reception.” Maria had fired up the fired up the grill and an intense tournament of cornhole had broken out 

“So where are they going to again?” Yon asks while he closes the door behind them.

”The arcade,” Carol responds while turning on the lamps near their bed, the room dimly lit, “Monica mentioned it to Verena and they ganged up on Maria, Talos, and Soren. They’ll probably be gone until late, maybe get the girls a snack or something too.”

Yon hums in acknowledgement as Carol crosses back over to him.

“You were a good sport, you know?” Carol praises, brushing a dried patch of buttercream frosting off his cheek; Monica had made red velvet cupcakes, Carol’s absolute favorite, and insisted that they perform the traditional Cake Smash, much to unsuspecting Yon’s dismay. After slinking over to the mirror on the dresser, she removes the flower crown from her tousled hair and sets it down gently onto the hardwood surface.

“I had a nice time,” Yon adds sincerely from his seat on the edge of the bed, unlacing his shoes. 

“I did too,” smiling at him in the mirror as she unclips the pin from her dress. After combing her fingers through her messy hair, she turns around to face him and leans on the chest of drawers comfortably, “I did have an idea that may make a bit nicer though.” 

“Oh?” he cocks his eyebrow at her, rising from his seat to approach her. “And what would that be?” he investigates coyly, squaring his hands on her hips 

Carol escapes his grasp easily, moving to her duffle bag on the floor. She bends to search through it for a moment, Yon curiously trying to see over her shoulder. When she finds the object, she turns back to him while keeping it out of his view behind her back. She comes to face him once again, but this time slightly bashful and timid, very odd for steadfast Carol. Wordlessly, she brings the cloth-covered mystery in front of him. Then, she unwraps the fabric and he feels his heart stop at what he sees.

The first thing that came into view was an obsidian blade about as wide as his thumb nail and nearly as thin as well. Then, a dull gun-metal handle peaks out, etched with delicate star designs and Kree glyphs, he thinks he makes out the interlocking symbol for bond and curly, twisting design for vow. Accents of shimmering gold and deep indigo paint outlined each engraving. He knew almost immediately that this was no ordinary knife.

It was a bonding blade.

At first, he’s lost for words and just dumbly stares at it, his brain short-circuiting. He has so many questions, but they’re all jumbled. Finally, he formulates a complete thought, choking it out dryly “where did you get this?”

“Remember when we went deep undercover on Lekyrah?” He nodded, of course he remembered. They had been aiding the Kree border planet in their behind-the-scenes, yet somehow incredibly bloody battle for independence.

“I got it when we passed through that market,” she replies matter-of-factly.

His eyes go wide, “you’ve had it that long?”

“Yeah,” she answers, blushing, “I never had any doubts - did you?”

He shakes his head. No, he can’t say he had.

He takes her hand in his, an act of comfort. “We don’t have to do this, the blood transfusion fulfills the law. These aren’t your ways,” he knew Carol was anything but fond of Kree traditions. He never wants to make her feel forced into being something she wasn’t ever again.

“No, but they’re yours. Besides, we might as well do it right.”

He strokes the back of her hand with his thumb, warmed by her motivations. Moving as one, they fill the open space in the middle of their room. They settle themselves on the floor, sitting on their shins in front of each other, close enough that their knees grazed each other with each breath. Their arms rested on their thighs, palms facing the sky. Their gazes only on each other and completely unfaltering. Nearly simultaneously, they both creep a hand up their neck, switching their universal translators off. Using them wouldn’t have been a nuisance, but performing the ceremony in natural Kree tongue was far more intimate. 

_“Do I sound as bad as I think I do?”_ Carol asks as she hesitantly trips over the words. After ditching the Kree, she had completely deserted their language. She could still read it perfectly fine, but she can’t recall exactly how long it had been since she had spoken it and Carol knew she was rusty.

_“You never sound bad to me,”_ Yon replies fluently, skimming her thigh. The silk did little to protect her from his touch, his warmth creating goosebumps where he caressed. But just like a breeze on a hot day, he was gone far too soon, returning to mirror her, 

Carol breathes out through her nose, recentering herself before picking up the ceremonial blade. She could feel the curves, the grooves, the ridges of its detailed handle as it settles in her palm. With her other hand, she delicately hangs on the back of his neck. Leaning her forehead on his, she remains his gape with the same fire he has creating lusty smoke in his honey eyes, making the hazy and cloudy.

_“Blood is sacred. It flows through not only our bodies, it flows through our souls. To spill blood is to waste the most valuable liquid in the universe. Every characteristic our blood has is a representation of our people: its deep, vibrant color mimics our deep, vibrant culture; the power it provides parallels the power of our spirits; its thickness is the thickness of our skin, unbreakable to the enemy. Blood is not just the liquid that gives us life, the blood in us is our life,”_ Carol recites before leaning down to his neck as to press a gentle kiss to his jugular. The steady pulse of his blood thumping against her lips as she speaks into the burning skin, _“to open your veins to me is to give your life to me. Do you trust me to value your blood? To cherish its significance? To take pride in your existence? To hold your life next to my own?”_

_“I do,”_ Yon-Rogg rasps, his throat, his mouth going dry. 

Carol lovingly smiles into his neck before lifting her hand from its crook, her free hand taking his right. Then, with a soft grip on the knife, she presses the blade into the skin of his palm just under his pinkie. Carol smoothly continues the cut, creating a linear line ending below his thumb, slightly above his wrist. There was no pain in the action. To Yon, the fluidity of it made it feel like a caress both on the surface of his flesh and underneath it. The blue blood begins to seep from the wound immediately, its viscosity causing fat beads to form. With both hands, Carol deftly brings his palm to her mouth as to not spill any of the precious substance. Finally, she covers the cut with the heat of her mouth, licking it to collect the deep blue pearls on her tongue before swallowing, her eyes never leaving his. Her saliva felt boiling hot, yet still oddly soothing to the abused flesh of his palm and she tongues at him almost like massage and he nearly whimpers at the feeling. Carol collects every speck of blue blood escaping in the ridges of his hand before pulling away, her brown eyes nearly black with something dark and primal. A thin stream of blood leaks from the corner of her mouth and starts to bead down her chin. Yon-Rogg instinctively uses a finger to collect it and Carol catches it with her sinful mouth, sucking it clean before releasing it with a subtle, slick pop. She had been too distracted to notice him slip the knife from her loosened grip, Yon-Rogg taking the role of dominance from her.

His hand slips from hers, his fingers ghosting over her temple before sweeping down the gentle slope of her check and finally tracing the sharp outline of her jaw. Almost in a daze, Yon grasps Carol’s chin with ironic tenderness, tilting her head and gaze up to him, elongating and exposing the pale porcelain plains of her neck. He drops his head to her level, bringing his lips just a wisp away from her own. Their breath mingles heavily as he begins his recitation. _“Blood is sacred. It flows through not only our bodies, it flows through our souls. To spill blood is to waste the most valuable liquid in the universe,” the deep vibrato of his voice causes his lips to vibrate making them lightly brush against Carol’s. “Every characteristic our blood has is a representation of our people: its deep, vibrant color mimics our deep, vibrant culture; the power it provides parallels the power of our spirits; its thickness is the thickness of our skin,”_ Yon mutters as he snakes his hand from her chin, dusting down her neck and over her collarbone, her shoulder, nimble fingers tickling the length of her arm leaving shivers in their wake, “ _unbreakable to the enemy. Blood is not just the liquid that gives us life, the blood in us is our life.”_ In only a moment, the warmth of his breath leaves Carol’s lips and she almost groans at the loss, but then she feels the heat on her temple and the inferno of his kiss on the surface, her eyes fluttering shut at the sensation. The blaze burns its way down the slant of her cheekbone as Yon settles on her hot check. _“To open your veins to me is to give your life to me. Do you trust me to value your blood? To cherish its significance? To take pride in your existence? To hold your life next to my own?”_ he mutters onto her supple skin, the words feeling like a stroke of pure fire to her excited nerves.

_“I do,”_ Carol sighs blissfully, _“I do.”_

With the consent she has given him, Yon-Rogg takes her hand into his at last. Bringing their intertwined hands to fill the void of space between their torsos, he gracefully takes the knife that had been patiently resting in his uncut hand to the expanse of her palm. Repeating the same path she had taken on his own, Carol nearly moans at the release of the cool, somehow soft metal gracing her skin. The blood pooling, Yon bends, attaching his mouth to the oasis building in her palm, drinking it dry. A broken, feeble whimper leaves Carol’s lungs as he gives one last long stroke of his tongue down the entirety of the slice for good measure. The minute he straightens his torso, Carol can’t help but pounce on him, crashing his lips to hers with the strength of an ocean wave on a jagged rock cove. She moans at the taste of her blood, their blood, on his tongue, tart and syrupy. His hands crawl upwards to the straps of her dress, tugging the silk down her shoulders and pooling the gown around her waist. Breaking away for a single breath, they rise and the blue fabric falls like a waterfall down her legs and bunches around her feet. As they frantically reconnect, they stumble out of the silk twisting around their faltering feet, staggering blindly before the backs of Carol’s thighs meet the softness of the mattress, her back colliding with the feathery sham blanketing it. 

_“We certainly are newlyweds, huh?”_ Carol laughs breathlessly before choking into an elongated moan as Yon-Rogg’s lips begin their assault on her neck. He marks the skin like a painting, creating blooming deep purple bruises on the canvas that was her milky white skin. 

_“You're leaving them too high,”_ she pouts weakly, her actions conflicting with her words as she intertwines her fingers into his sandy locks to keep him locked against her.

_“Wear a scarf,”_ he gruffs into her neck, his teeth nibbling a particular tender region of her throat making her wriggle against the ministration.

_“It’s 74 degrees out.”_

_“You get cold.”_

_“Liar,”_ Carol grins cockily at him as Yon turns his focus further south, Taking one bra strap from her shoulder, he drags it down slowly, savoring the anticipation and the way Carol’s breath halts and skin flushes. Every second feels like an eternity, the wait suddenly ending when the cup slips from her breast, a magenta nipple exposing itself to him. She gasps the minute the barrier is removed from her bud, making it vulnerable to the cool spring air. 

_“I don’t know,”_ Yon contemplates slyly, _“you seem a little bit cold to me.”_

Gently cupping the breast, he flicks the erect bud before giving it a firm pinch. Carol throws one of her arms next to her head, clutching the crinkled bedding with her hand, a short, high-pitched whimper escaping her plump lips. 

_“Bastard,”_ she sighs breathily.

He hums in passive acknowledgement, far more concerned with keeping such delicious noises rolling off her tongue, taking the peak into his mouth to aid in his objective . The wet, slippery warmth blanketing her nipple like humid fog sends shudders of pleasure to the very tips of her toes. Circling the bud with his tongue as he draws it further and further into his mouth with each solid suck, Yon smiles when he is rewarded with sharp moans falling from Carol’s lips like lyrical, rhythmic music. Carol whimpers as she feels the heat leave her chest before breaking out into a keening cry as he subtly drags his teeth over the tip of the pointed peak. He kisses his way swiftly across the flushing skin of her chest, exposing more as he goes by dragging the other bra strap down her arm and taking the twin into his secure grip, repeating his attention on the ignored nipple: pinch, flick, lick, suck, graze. By the time he slips his hands behind her back to unhook her lowered bra, Carol’s head is swimming, absolutely drowning, in the sea of his affections. Her dizzy brain fails to register his progress, Yon somehow between her trembling thighs, pulling her panties down her long legs and off her body smoothly. When he finally settles himself at her center, Carol’s lungs begin to burn as she realizes she had been waiting with bated breath for him to make his arrival causing her to take in a deep gasp of oxygen into the neglected organs. His lips dust over her sensitive inner thighs, an adept finger tracing the entirety of her slit, collecting the heated wetness as he goes. Carol throws her head back, a grunted sign escaping her. 

_“You’re dripping,”_ Yon notes as he sops the fluid onto her clit, using the slickness to rub it, frictionless.

_“You’re cocky,”_ Carol challenges back, breathless. 

Unwavering from her dispute, Yon dips a finger into her, putting her in her place. She can’t control the involuntarily clench of her muscles from the intrusion and Yon notices. _“Well, you feel like you like it.”_ Skimming his nose on the plump flesh of her thighs, he continues _“and you smell like you like it.”_ Moving his face back to her pussy, his tongue escapes his mouth and gives a lap to her, shocking her senses and sending both of her hands twisting into the comforter. _“And you certainly taste like you like it.”_

Yon-Rogg knows he’s won the battle when Carol doesn’t quip back smartly, instead breathing a heavy sigh. He smiles at the admission of defeat, dragging his tongue up to her clit to swiping at it like a switch, turning on and off her pleasure. With the space he has created, he pushes a second finger into her, then shortly after a third. Each push is marked by a salacious, languid moan tumbling from her mouth. He sets a steady pace of thrusts and twists, caressing every ridge, bump, and crevice of her walls paired with short, crisp licks on her nub. Carol can feel the adrenaline in her blood, the sweat beginning to prick onto her skin at the onset. She was sure her nails must be leaving thin, slit-like holes in the bedding by now, perhaps even a few singes as her hands burn under his attention. She feels the tension building in her gut like sand dripping and pooling in an hourglass, approaching oblivion. Still, his touches aren’t enough, a few stubborn grains sticking to the glass and refusing to fall. She wants to tell him what she wants, to beg him to take her to the edge and allow her to fall into bliss.

_“Yon-Rogg, please, please, I need - “_ her mouth stalls, the Kree word for her desire completely missing from her mind, a stark blank in her vocabulary.

_“What do you need?”_ he mumbles on her folds, the vibrations sending delectable trembles throughout her body. 

_“I can’t remember how to say it in Kree,”_ she grumbles lightly in dissatisfaction, _“just please, please.”_

Yon-Rogg knows he could turn on his universal translator to clarify, but his eyes glimmer cunningly as he comes up with a better idea to identify her want. Speeding his pace from languid to quick strokes, he asks _“you want it faster?”_

_“Yes,”_ she cries, _“and I need, need it-“_

_“Harder?”_ he elaborates, the thrusts of his fingers becoming bruising.

_“Yes! I need it all, I need-“_

_“More?”_ He finishes, looking over the curves of her body to her face quizzically. _“You need more?”_

_“Yes! I need more, more, more,”_ Carol chants like a devoted mantra.

Yon-Rogg needs no further instruction, combining his previous adjustments and covering the entirety of her clit with his mouth, flicking it with his tongue while sucking. 

She wails his name like she was praising an ancient deity, the string inside her becoming tauter and tauter and tauter before it snaps like a rubber band. She cums, his fingers knuckle-deep inside of her velvet heat and his mouth suckling at her clit, with a flood of fluid and a scream. Yon extends the high, licking at the nub and his fingers continuing to squelch inside her until she pushes him away with a weak hand, overwhelmed by the ecstasy. He takes one last taste of her glistening juices before abiding by her, pulling himself from his vigil between her thighs. 

Carol can’t catch her breath as her chest heaves with her labored, hiccuping breathing. Her body shakes progressively die, but her head still feels like it’s stuffed with cotton. She is blissfully boneless and weightless, the same way she felt when she first learned to 4-point-roll back at the Air Force Academy. Her dilated eyes darkened and unfocused on the ceiling about her.

Yon-Rogg crawls up her body when Carol comes back to Earth, her breathing starting to steady, eyes returning to their inviting auburn color, desperate shakes becoming a slight tremor. He settles himself above her, using his arms folded above her head to balance his weight as to not smother her.

_“Have I fulfilled my duty as a husband?”_ he questions softly, brushing some of the wild, matted golden hair from her face. 

_“I do feel pretty fulfilled,”_ she jests, brushing her thumb over the blunt arch of his cheek. _“But don’t I think you’re entirely off the hook yet. You should get going, you’re wife’s an impatient woman.”_

_“How could I ever forget, I did marry Carol Danvers, infamous for her flaming fists and short-temper.”_

_“Don’t you mean Carol Rogg?”_ Carol lifting an arched brow and quipping her lips in tandem.

His heart swells at the sentiment, pressing his lips to hers softly before whispering, _“I guess I do.”_

For a few beats, they don’t speak, they don’t move, they don’t even breathe. Only their eyes flicker over each other’s faces, savoring the small details of each other: Carol favoring to study the skinny scratched scar just below his left brow, Yon-Rogg brushing the dusting of tan freckles across her cheeks. When their travelling gazes crossed, they smile warmly at one another before he moves to his knees to remove his slacks and briefs, then unbuttoning his shirt. His comforting weight returns in almost an instance with the added bonus that now she could feel his rough skin on the entirety of her body. Her arms instinctively wrap around his broad shoulder, shivering as her bare breasts press against the hard contours of his chest. He grabs her thighs, hauling her legs to encircle his lean torso and spread for him. 

_“And tell me, Mrs. Rogg,”_ Yon implores, pressing a feather-light kiss to the corner of her mouth which was agape in lusty anticipation, _“what is that you want?”_ His tip barely dipping into her wetness.

_“You, Mr. Rogg.”_ Carol pleads, moving one of her hands to the back of his neck and dragging him down so his forehead rests on her own. She looks adoringly into his honey eyes, milky with desire, as she continues, _“all I want is you.”_

He drops his head a few inches further, colliding their mouths while he completely fills her in one strong thrust. He swallows the keening mewl she releases at the intrusion, using the action as leverage to deepen their kiss, his tongue exploring her mouth. Ever the strategic commander, he tactfully registers her body’s reactions to his actions to establish a pace that would best satisfy her: the way her nails bit into his skin when he pulls his cock out, leaving only the tip inside her; the quick rhythm of her chest and flutter of her lashes when he drives in fast, but pulls out slow. He soon figures out a pattern of punishingly-paced complete thrusts that have her toes painfully curling into the small of his back. When Yon shifts the plunges just a hair higher, he brushes a spot that sends pure electricity jolting throughout her body. A deep gasp rips through the air, her body curling into the wonderful feeling and eyes shooting wide open.

“ _Fuck_ ” she growls, her fingers bruising his muscular back as she clasps desperately onto him. _“God Yon - shit - please,”_ she sobs.

_“Please what?”_

_“Don’t -“_ she breaks off into a high-pitched whine, _“just don’t stop.”_

Her hands trail up, caressing on their ascent, cupping his face. Her eyes glaze over his face sporadically, a million things she wants to say on the tip of her tongue yet somehow so foreign and far away. Instead, she chooses to express herself the way she knows best, through action; she covers his lips with her own, moving them in the shapes of the Kree glyphs she wishes she could speak, hoping that Yon-Rogg understands. She knows he receives the message from the way their pace slows, their raw rut molding into something softer, more intimate. He focuses his attention on the spot, hitting it over and over and over again. Their eyes trained solely on each other and their gasps paired like a musical duet accompanied by beat of their slapping skin. The pleasure knotting at the base of his spine is becoming inescapable, making it harder and harder to ignore. He skims a hand down their bodies, slipping it between them to rub at her bundle of nerves while his mouth goes to suckle on the fragile flesh under her ear and she’s gone. Her back arches sharply and she calls out his name in commendation. With a few more pumps into her tightened, pulsating softness, he follows her into climax with a deep guttural moan muffled into the sweaty skin of her neck. He collapses onto her, the weight far more comforting than crushing. For a few minutes, they just lay there together gasping for breath and basking in the sweet afterglow of ecstasy, Carol’s fingers gently carding through his hair. Then he realizes that he’s probably suffocating her under his dead-weight and swiftly rolls them over so she’s on top of him, Carol releasing a fit of giggles at the action. 

_“God, you’re making me dizzy,”_ She laughs, straddling his waist.

_“Hopefully in a good way,”_ he replies huskily, nibbling on her ear.

_“Oh yes,”_ she hums, _“definitely in a good way, a great way actually.”_

She leans down to kiss him again, a smirk on her lips, but she’s stopped by an odd sensation tickling her palm. Something slick, sticky, and wet covers her fingertips and drips down her wrist. ‘Oh yeah, the cut,’ she thinks, nodding the curiosity away. Then it comes abruptly back, stunning her. 

THE. CUT. 

_“Oh my god, we forgot about the blood!”_ She gapes.

It’s like she can finally see with clear eyes, and gods did they make a mess. The region of the bedding Carol had been gripping by her head is absolutely drenched in blood. Swipes of blue cover Yon-Rogg’s face and neck, she can safely assume his back and shoulders were painted in the same. With a quick glance down her body, she knows she’s not much better; azure blotches covering her thighs and breasts like war paint. The light beige fabric of the comforter is trashed, the blood on their bodies transferring onto the layer like a stamp. Yon-Rogg comes to as well due to her outburst, noticing the destruction of their lovemaking but has a different reaction. He snickers, not laughs, that bastard fucking snickers. 

_“It’s a mess, this isn’t funny!”_ Carol weakly pushing his shoulder.

_“It is a little funny.”_

_“What in the hell am I gonna tell Maria?”_ She laminates, bashfully burying her head into the tainted fabric.

_“That you got distracted,”_ he kids, Carol lifting her head just enough so he can see her unamused eyes.

_“Oh har, har,”_ she jokes sarcastically before yelping at the feeling of her body leaving the bed. _“What do you think you’re doing?”_ she accuses while gripping onto him like a koala.

_“Like you said it’s a mess,”_ he looks down at her with mischievous eyes, his slow strides continuing towards the attached bathroom _“and messes need to be cleaned up.”_

_“I meant the bedding.”_

_“You didn’t specify,”_ his burning lips returning back to her bruised neck. 

Carol wants to fight back, but she wants to give in more. She melts into his warm touch, stretching out her neck for him. Besides, they had the rest of the night to clean up their mess and the rest of their lives to clean up the many more that would surely follow after.

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so this was my first smut story and I literally blushed the entire time I wrote it. Let me know how I did, hopefully not too terrible or cliche lol. 
> 
> As I mentioned before, follow me on Tumblr @ etherealenigma . I’m looking for some Yonvers prompts!


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